


chaotic chemicals

by JeanSouth



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-15 13:21:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2230581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanSouth/pseuds/JeanSouth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>shorter Haikyuu!! fics that don't warrant a separate work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The sun ain’t got nothin’ on Tsukishima, Kuroo thinks. A soft, red blush spreads over his nose, the faint, faint freckles there, and colours the tips of his ears, just visible over his headphones.

In the middle, his eyes; golden brown then yellow-golden, differing with every shaft of sunlight that begs to touch him. They’re dark with displeasure, halflidded with a reprimand slipping to the tip of Tsukishima’s tongue before Kuroo steals it with a kiss.

Always chaste; his sunset is always chaste in public and in private where he grants small mercies, eats the cooking Kuroo makes, and allows him to cuddle slow, only sometimes, when he is tired and his tall body aches in growing pains

Kuroo wonders why he is so slow to touch and slower to trust, but time will tell, and he has time aplenty with text messages and hands held. Tsukishima lacks the patience Kuroo has leaps and bounds of, coming closer in increments.

"Pretty," Kuroo murmurs, sidles closer on the seat, and pleads with silent looks until Tsukishima scoffs, puts down his book, and lifts his chin in permission he is too shy to give freely. Regardless, in Kuroo’s arms, in the soft swaying of the train, he dozes off, and makes Kuroo’s heart feel hotter than the sun.


	2. Chapter 2

"I really,  _really_  love you,” Noya murmurs, nipping softly at Asahi’s abdomen. The air around them is warm and salty, with the scent of beach and sea following on the breeze. In the distance, Hinata shouts at Kageyama for withholding an icepop.

The sun is hot on Noya’s head, warming his hair and the side of his face, then all the way down his back, save for where one of Asahi’s big, warm hands rests on his skin. It had only been there to provide him with sunscreen, but it had lingered uninvited but welcome.

"I think you’ve got sunstroke," Asahi laughs, drinks from a bottle of water from the portable cooler next to them, in the shade of a beach umbrella.

"No way," Noya shakes his head, lays down and turns his head to rest on the other cheek, staring up at Asahi. Big, broad shoulders. A wide torso that reflects in his big, wide back. A strong jaw covered in stubble, a sharp nose, plush lips and dark eyes. They look contented, lit by the sun to give them the undertone of coffee with a hint of cream. They look good when they don’t look cowardly, intimidated, scared of what stands in front of them that they can’t see past. "I don’t think I could be happier than if we could do this every year for the rest of my life."

Eagerly, he accepts the bottle of cold water and smiles smugly when some drips on Asahi’s stomach.

"Until your sunstroke clears," Asahi says, like the coward he is, who cannot boldly accept feelings and speak of his own, "I’ll stay on this beach with you."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> asanoya, for a friend's birthday!

_Warm_.

Yuu was always  _warm_.

“It’s too cold to play in the snow,” Asahi mumbled for the third time, wrapped up in a scarf and gloves, a thick sweater and a coat on top. He was still cold, his body unwilling to face the late-November chill with grace.

“Live a little,” Nishinoya challenged. Wrapped around snow to shape it into a big ball, his hands were pale and his lips were blue. Worry coursed through Asahi, and he raised his hands to… reach out, or pull back, or hold on. They were batted away without a second thought as the snowman gained a head. Next were arms, and he quickly sought twigs to make do and handed them over as quickly as possible, seeking stones for a mouth and eyes. “Now you’re in the spirit.”

He hated to spoil the fun, and only say he wanted Yuu inside, warm, under blankets and drinking tea.

“He looks really nice,” Asahi managed a smile, less sincere than he had hoped, and led the way inside expectantly. The kettle was full of hot water, and he thought he had small, soft marshmallows in the cupboard. The team would make fun of him, but he loved winter at home in its quiet domesticity; hearty meals and the quiet calm of evenings sure to be spent cuddled under a warm kotatsu. He loved the lead-up to Christmas lights and the feeling of presenting minced meat and hand-spun truffles, proud of his own creations. He would like it more if Yuu didn’t look close to hypothermia, shivering on the doorstep and wet from the knees down. “I’ll make you some hot chocolate… there’s a blanket on the couch.”

It was next to the book he’d abandoned to answer the door to Yuu, before he’d been bowled over by the yearly enthusiasm for the first heavy snow of winter.

“You’re warmer than a blanket,” Yuu protested, following him to the kitchen, cold hands slipping up his shirt to make him yelp. He could even feel the coldness in Yuu’s lips in the kiss pressed to his shoulder blade, through the loose-knit sweater now his coat hung by the door. “I would rather see you on the couch.”

“In a minute,” Asahi agreed, his body tensing and shivering at the feeling of cold hands on his skin. Behind him, Yuu laughed, soft and warm and gentle. He only let go to let Asahi turn around for mint candy canes and tiny marshmallows, topping off the hot cocoa beautifully.

“Couch!” Yuu reminded him, seemingly only one delay from stomping his foot and sulking. He had his hands on his hips as he waited for Asahi to settle in the blanket nest, then climbed in with him and sealed the heat after shoving off his wet trousers. The blankets were only a meagre protection from Yuu’s cold feet, drawing more shivers from him. He pressed closer, leaned up, and stole a kiss. “Warm my lips up, first…”

He stole a second kiss, and waited impatiently for a third, hands tugging at Asahi’s hair when he didn’t kiss him quick enough, his tongue darting over Yuu’s lips to warm them. After a fourth kiss, a fifth kiss, his hands (lukewarm, calloused) pushed up Asahi’s sweater to bare his nipples to the cold air. With a whine, he tried to cover them from stiffening in the cold air, stopped quickly by Yuu grabbing at his wrists, and ordering him to keep his sweater up.

“I need to warm my hands,” Yuu scolded him, his fingers drawing circles around Asahi’s nipples, skimming over them on occasion until his back arches and he bit his lip, looking away. At first, he’d not paid attention to his nipples, but the constant, inescapable teasing had made them as arousing as if Yuu was rubbing between his legs. He squirmed a little until Yuu darted forward to kiss one, rubbing his calloused palm over the other, the rough scrape of it coaxing a noise from Asahi.

“And I need to warm my waist…” Yuu teased, worrying at Asahi’s belt and his buttons, tugging at them gently until Asahi pushed them off awkwardly in the confined spaces, rewarded by Yuu drawing a finger from the tip of his boxer-brief covered cock to his balls, and down the cleft of his ass. He tugged until Asahi slid down far enough that the boxer-briefs could be slid down over his ass cheeks, leaving them exposed to Yuu’s wandering hands.

“Your waist?” Asahi questioned, a sceptical note in his voice as Yuu scrambled to find a lubricant, making faces at the bottle of lotion before accepting it, lathering it liberally over his hands, rubbing it between his fingers to slick them, working one into Asahi to test the water. Seemingly satisfied, he worked a second and third into him, wriggling them around until he slipped them out, slicking himself and lining up, waiting for Asahi’s nod before pushing his cock in, settling to steal a kiss when they were pressed flush together. The exertion flushed Yuu’s face red, his fingers scrambling for possession on Asahi’s shoulders as he started to thrust, gradually picking up speed until he came with a strangled moan, hanging on long enough to check Asahi had come too before he fell forwards, allowing the blankets to be drawn up over his shoulders. “Are you warm enough now?”

Yuu shot him the biggest grin he’d seen all day, slightly dopey, and reached for his hot chocolate. Asahi enjoyed winter, and being warmed up by his boyfriend.


	4. Chapter 4

"You moved  _everything_.”

Kuroo has his hands in his pockets and a distraught look on his face. Even the smell of white chocolate chip cookies, gooey in the middle and baking in the oven, doesn’t seem to bring him out of his reverie. Even when he’s  _wrong_.

The kitchen is the same as always; badly drawn artwork on the fridge despite how often Tsukishima offers to hang in Kuroo’s office instead (loudly, within earshot of Tooru, and relishes Kuroo’s pained excuses), the table is still in the wrong corner, and there’s stacks upon stacks of reference books mixed with colouring books on every available surface.

Every day, Tsukishima chips a little more at Kuroo to buy a bookcase.

“I didn’t move anything,” he protests, drying a bowl with a bright red dish towel, covered in a print from a family holiday he hadn’t been around for. And it’s not that he minds; he’s only been here six months (working first out of a need for cash and a recommendation from a friend that got him hired, then a grim sense of certainty that if he left it would count as child abandonment) but it’s threadbare. He folds it in half then in fours, and turns to look at the windowsill Kuroo is staring at with exaggerated horror, a hand clutched to his chest and his eyes slowly squeezing shut. “I cleaned up!”

Slowly, Kuroo grabs at the wall for support, dramatically stumbling into it, sliding downwards slowly, groaning loudly on his way towards the floor.

“I put everything where it  _belongs_!”

He slides down further, spread-eagled on the floor Tsukishima cleaned that morning, and throws an arm over his eyes, faking a muffled sob. In the background, the kitchen door clicks open to let Tooru in, attracted by the noise.

On the floor, Kuroo lets out a wail, wriggling his left leg.

“Kei,” Tooru sidles up beside him and holds his hand; grubby and covered in dirt, but wide-eyed as he stares down at his father. He looks like he almost wants to go over and check, but it is common knowledge Tsukishima is the saner option in a zombie apocalypse, and he takes it as a sign of intelligence rather than budding patricide that Tooru doesn’t investigate further. “What’s wrong with him?”

Kuroo rolls to the side, his long legs almost touching Tooru’s, who squeals and jumps back, hiding behind Tsukishima’s legs.

“The idea of cleaning has come as such a shock to his system that his entire body shut down.”

Tooru gasps. Knowing kids, he probably didn’t grasp the sarcasm. He supposes innocence has its charms when opposed to Kuroo’s sly smiles.

“Yes,” Kuroo spreads out further and pretends to wither on a long sigh. “Only Cinderella’s kiss can revive me…”

He falls silent, lets it sink in to Tooru’s mind, and lets him work out Cinderella scrubbed fireplaces and rooms.

“Kei!” Tooru tugs on his wrist until he leans down, distracted by the way Kuroo’s lips twitch towards a smile. “That’s  _you_. You have to kiss dad or he’ll  _die_.”

With all the enthusiasm of a gullible six year old, he tugs Tsukishima closer, then downwards, until he’s leaning over Kuroo’s prone body, disturbed only by a low, dramatic groan. Better over and done with.

Leaning in, he presses his lips to Kuroo’s and finds the candy-coated and sticky.  _Bad nutrition_ , he thinks inanely, and lets Kuroo continue to kiss him chastely, then pulls away, alarmed by the smell of burnt cookies.

On the floor, Kuroo holds his hand up for a tiny high five.


	5. Chapter 5

Koushi wants him like a wolf wants blood.

The entire bus is crowded, people’s bags jostling into his shoulder on his left, the window pressed up against his right. The glass is smeared with a dried liquid he can’t quite place, a little dirty in the corners. The entire bus smells like too much sweat and the lingering scent of take-out food someone left on a seat to rot in the sunlight.

Someone jostles him again, and he keeps serene. Everyone else is pressed in tight like a tin of sardines, too. An ass clad in black slacks (a nice ass, he must admit) keeps coming closer, and closer, and closer.

It leads down to nice legs that fill the thighs of the slacks well. Up to a nice nipped waist and broad shoulders, hair that’s the slightest bit ruffled but could do with more. He bounces back and forth both with the motion of the bus, and the music coming from earpods.

When he steps back again, he’s one step away from a telling off.

Then, he’s half a step from falling and can’t recover, a muffled  _fuck!_  leaving him as his arms pinwheel almost comically, his hands slipping off people’s jackets with just enough grip that it doesn’t  _hurt_  when he falls on Koushi’s lap.

And finally, he  _understands_  the way a wolf wants blood, the way his university professor describes it.

It is undeniable and instant.

The stranger smells like a mild, fresh deoderant and no cologne but just musk. He has on six bracelets, braided leather with two charms, and the expanse of his skin has a bruise on the collarbone in a faded sickly yellow that looks like a bad clash in good sports.

“Uh,” he’s chewing spearmint gum, and his music is instantly paused. When he smiles he looks boyishly endearing, like he’s been caught doing something naughty and wants to smile his way out of a lecture. A big part of it is embarrassment that stains both their faces red. “Hi.”

One of his ears is pierced; far more adventurous than Koushi tends to be, but hidden under the slightly over-long hair.

“Hello,” he smiles back, his special smile reserved for shy animals, cautious children, and men in bars who look often but don’t dare come. It is soothing, gentle, and makes his eyes close with the wideness of it. He feels more than hears the exhale over the noise of the bus. It seems to pack more tightly into the space made by them cuddling closer together, and until some people get off, they have no choice but to stay. “It seems you’ve mistaken me for a chair.”

He startles a laugh from the stranger, only gentle, a little rough. He sounds like he’s coming down with a cold and needs someone to take care of him. Make him chicken soup, tuck his blankets in. Wash him down in the shower and heat his body up to burn the fever through.

Inside his own head, Koushi scolds himself for thinking lewd things about handsome strangers.

“Nice to meet you, chair,” the stranger smiles and tries to settle in a way that won’t crush Koushi’s thighs. Even if it doesn’t work, it’s the thought that counts. “I’m Sawamura Daichi. I’m a third-year up at the university… I think I’ve seen you around before.”

The way his smile grows belies the word  _think_ , the way he pulls his earpod out, and turns to face Koushi better.

“Well,” he says then, facing Sawamura – Daichi, he hopes, if he reads the air right. “If you take me for coffee, I might let you know my name. Believe it or not, I’m actually a real boy…”


End file.
